To the very best of times (H&W)
by BBSSSS
Summary: Do you want to know what will happen after S1 E3? Setting: Sherlock-blind; John-coma Warn! This is a Slash fiction


To The Very Best Of Times

" Sherlock! "

BOOM！

Sherlock's bullet hit the bomb jacket.

I squatted on the ground, raised my head slightly, enough that I could see the uncompromising in his eyes clearly. Swimming pool's dim lights shone on him. He was entirely different from the usual. It was as if you were looking at a diamond, and you could only see its splendor under the sun but not see itself at all. But now, in the gentle light, the light was reduced to little needles like fluff, and at last, you could see all its glittering angles and planes. He looked as if he were twenty-five or younger. His black hair curled obediently over his high forehead. His eyes were firm and clear. But clearly, he's Sherlock.

This is my last memory before I fell into a coma. — Watson

They were still alive.

"It was a big bang. " It made Sherlock smile helplessly. "Sherlock is temporarily blind now. " That's what the doctor said to Mycroft. Sherlock fiddled his fingers. 'Bored bored bored', his most common thing to say. No one around. The whole room was so quiet. Sherlock, with his eyes closed, could only heard his own heartbeat. Someone was lying on the next bed. He heard someone breathing and knew it was Watson immediately because they'd lived together for such a long period of time. "John?" Sherlock called out, yet no one replied. John's still in a coma, he thought. The air was filled with the smell of hospital disinfectant, which made Sherlock frown slightly. "Bored."

Sherlock hated the smell of disinfectant in the hospital and the darkness. But he was still lying quietly with fingers playing on his black curled hairs. " It is rare to lie beside him so leisurely。

" A person came in.

"Smith? " Sherlock smelt the hospital disinfectant mix with lady's perfume. 'She must be Smith' he though. Smith was the only person that can came in this room except Mycroft which means she's the doctor.

" Good morning, Sherlock. " Smith lay on the door.

" Your voice sounds novers. Let's guest what makes you speak in a trembling voice."

" Uhhhh Moriarty. I guess he's the only one who wants to care about me."

Her hands started shaking. The sound of tray and syringe was very prominent in this quiet room.

" You did a really good job. . But you pushed the door too hard. You should know that when I'm blind, my sense of smell will be more sensitive. You put poison on the needles of the syringe to escaped the inspection but I AM SHERLOCK. "

Sherlock pushed the alarm button. " Huh Mycroft, just this time. "

'Bored'. Absolute darkness and completely lack of things to do could make the strongest person break down mentally, so he must plan strictly at the beginning. He couldn't let his mind go free, and the best way to do that without outside stimulation was to recall the most intellectually demanding books he'd ever read, such as chess scores, bridge classics, and music scores.

He followed these plans to the letter, playing chess in his head, playing the violin empty-handed, and playing bridge with great interest every day. But it was not good to think too fast. 'Bored'. Those things which were long enough for the common man to contemplate with gusto became a piece of tasteless gum to him soon.

A month later, he was confident that his bridge and chess skills had improved. But with further research, playing chess with oneself would only increase the risk of schizophrenia. 'Bored.' He began to recall the cases he had dealt with, especially the interesting details and detour he had taken. He organized and summarized them systematically and then put them back into the database in his mind, which enabled him to kill another half month successfully. After that, he began to sift through the knowledge stored in his mind, and with a duster, he went into the mind palace, took his collection off the shelves, swept away the dust, and made it shine again. But his knowledge of every item in the collection limited the amount of time he could spend on it. In short, after two months of blindness, he realized with some resignation that he was running out of things to do.

Sherlock was upset by the noise in the corridor.

If he could squeeze anything out of his mind that would disturb him, he wouldn't worry - he would automatically block out all external factors as he pondered. But without it, all the things in his mind were chewed and chewed by him, and now they were as useless as rotten vegetables. He was doing the only thing he could do: he had a secret place in his mind where he kept some of his most precious memories. He decided to take a good look at them.

After making this decision, a face came to his mind - the one he knew he loved to look at and the one he had seencountless times.

The man was not very tall, but he was as reliable as a tree, as firm as a rock, and his hands were always warm, just as how his smile made people feel. That person had the marksmanship and mindset as a soldier, the calmness and grace as a doctor, the kindness and integrity as a good man, and the faithfulness and honesty as a friend. That person was not very smart but could always read his mind by intuition. With that person around him, if something good happens, his happiness doubles, and if something bad happens, he gets through it faster.

Trusting and loving that person is the easiest thing in the world...

What he heard was the sound of china banging together as the man made tea for him, the blips of wood in the fireplace as they sat in the living room on winter nights, the smack of typing at a slow pace, the occasional conversation they had about the TV show…... On another occasion, he put the man to sleep with the sound of a piano and the steady sound of him breathing under the blanket with stripes…... There was a slight smile on his lips, and he lay down and wrapped himself with the blanket, which made him feel much warmer… He remembered once he was lying on that man's laps, that man was concentrating and gently helping him deal with the wounds on his face. The sunlight was on them, and the man's sweater smelled like black tea mixed with disinfectant…... Then Sherlock yawned, so the man sat behind him with the fingers in his hair, and his hair was slowly dried with a hairdryer. He yawned again and felt his body and mind melt into the warmness. He could only see darkness still and he couldn't resist the tiredness, and drifted off to sleep.

He did not know how long he had slept. He felt like he had drown in an ocean and wasn't willing to wake up again.

It was winter now, the quilts were not too warm, and the coolness in the air made his bones ache. He repeated the man's name to himself over and over again in his mind, as if he had struck a match.

"John."

He finally broke down and named the person he's been missing.

"I am here. " A weak voice answered him.


End file.
